


Cause We Are Young & Afraid

by larry_my_life



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cutting, HP - Freeform, M/M, Sad, Self Harm, Suicide Hotline, angsty, ends happy, harry finds out, secret, trigger warning, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larry_my_life/pseuds/larry_my_life
Summary: The last person he thought would find out about his self harm scars was Harry Potter— especially in gym class...





	Cause We Are Young & Afraid

“Hi, my name is Emma, you’ve just called the Suicide Hotli—“

Draco almost immediately hangs up. 

His heart is thumping in his chest. He can feel it in the tip of his fingers.

No, this isn’t a normal Tuesday for Draco— It would have been if Harry Potter hadn’t shown up late to gym class.

-

 

Harry Potter: surprisingly not a asshole. 

But, majority of Harry’s friends were. I guess that’s what happens when you’re apart of the football team, right? Maybe that was rude, but Draco didn’t care. 

Anyways, not like Draco has been going to every football game for the sole reason to maybe accidentally bump into Harry and make some sort of life- changing small talk....

Is Draco a little infatuated with Harry? I guess. Pansy always describes it as “teenage gay love.”

Draco has been crushing on Harry since 5th grade. 

He didn’t know that he was crushing on Harry, because it’s 5th grade and the only way to show affection was to steal someone’s crayons. So that’s what he did.

6 years later, Harry Potter is a force to be reckoned with, making the insanely competitive football team. Harry would easily beat Draco’s ass. Most days Draco’s confused why he doesn’t.

Harry isn’t snarky to him like the rest of everyone at school.

Basically, Draco’s stuck in High School with a bunch of dicks. Even though everyone tells him he’s a ‘fag’ and ‘gay,’ no one (but Pansy) knows he’s really actually one of them. 

The point is, Draco is getting tormented everyday at school.

It’s crazy, because the day he came home from school years ago with no backpack, his mother almost knew he was getting picked on. Some kids older than him hid his backpack and never told him where it was. 

Draco, at the beginning, hated them all. He hadn’t done anything to them. 

Then, the next year came around and they didn’t stop pestering him. And the next year. And the year after that, he found some unsettling peace inside it. 

Because he felt like he deserved it.

That’s probably why he started hurting himself. Burns, cuts, head banging. He’d seen it all over social media. So he found a pencil sharpener in his familiarly lonely mansion. That’s how it started. 

No one knew what he did. Or maybe they did and just couldn’t bring themselves to say anything. If Draco’s learned anything from his parents, it’s the harsh reality that showing pain is showing weakness. Vulnerability has no room in his life.

He wanted to tell Pansy. Sometimes he’d stare at her contact on his phone, pleading, almost begging she could _know_ and not be freaked out from it.

He’d gotten really good at hiding scars. Long sleeves or simply cut somewhere else. Draco even hid his tools all over his room and sometimes scattered throughout the bathrooms in the Manner.

Not like his parents would look.

His once porcelain skin was stained in light pink scars. Sometimes he couldn’t even look at his wrists or thighs— sometimes he feels sick looking at how plentiful they are.

The last person he expected to find out was Harry Potter. He saw his scars today. 

It was during gym class. Draco was 20 minutes late, running to the boys locker room. The locker room was completely deserted, although the stench of sweat didn’t go away. He quickly stripped off his shirt, feeling light headed. 

Draco suddenly got a wave of nausea.

Last night was bad. And if he’s not careful, the cut will open up again— and Draco knew from the sting the one on his leg just did. And he didn’t eat breakfast. And he just doesn’t feel good. Draco struggles to stay up, grabbing helplessly at the locker for stability, his vision clouding up. 

The next thing Draco knew, he was on the cold ground, staring up at Harry Potter leaning over him, looking very concerned.

“Draco? Are you okay?”

Draco’s head turned hot in pain, shaking, “W-What happened?”

Draco sat up, searching frantically around for some sort of answer.

“You passed out, like you literally crumbled to the floor,” Harry explained, hearing the distress in his voice.

“Wait what?” Draco couldn’t help to tremble, “how long have I been passed out?”

“Maybe 10 seconds, but oh my Merlin, you scared the shit out of me. Are you sure you’re okay?” Harry asked again.

“Yeah,” Draco says, grabbing for his shirt self consciously, attempting to get up. Harry offers him a hand and grabs Draco by the forearm.

Oh fuck.

Harry helps Draco get up to his feet, but Harry quickly rips his hand away, feeling the scabs and scars all along Draco’s arm in disgust.

Draco’s heart dropped.

It was like a movie scene— it all happened so fast. They both gaped at each other in horror. It was obvious what they were. Draco had done them to himself.

Draco tried to cover his arms as fast as he possible could, but it was too late. Harry had already seen. 

_This can’t be happening this can’t be happening._

Draco fell speechless, staring gobsmacked at the ground. In a matter of seconds, his whole body went numb in shock. Harry spoke so softly he could barely recognize it. 

“Malf—“

“—Don’t.” 

Draco’s body tensed, feeling a wash of heated emotions drown him. His voice was harsh and cold, just like his father. He reached for his shirt aggressively and quickly put it over his head. 

Without another word, Draco slammed his locker shut, walking as fast away from Potter as he possible could. Draco’s eyes strain, suddenly feeling like he’s going to puke as he rolls his sleeves down.

For a few seconds, he could hear footsteps follow him. But he walked. And almost started to run. After he nearly sprinted clear to the other side of the school to his car, he looked around and noticed Potter wasn’t there. He had at some point stopped following him.

Draco’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. He could only see one imagine— it’s burned into his mind. Harry Potter glancing at him, staring horrified at the _rows of rows_ of cuts on his arm.

He went home after that. Thinking about it made Draco’s hands tremble (bad like they use to). Maybe that’s what compelled him to call the suicide hotline.

He doesn’t want to die. He knows he doesn’t. But he doesn’t want to exist either.


End file.
